


Forgive Me, Benedict

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Violin Faking, Because He Is Awesome, But The Violin Faking Was Terrible, Gen, It's Really Not Benedict's Fault, Metafiction, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for kinkmeme prompt: "I play the violin professionally (music for tv advertisements, movies, musicals, etc.) and while I happily suspend my belief for Sherlock; I had a "sherlock yelling at the telly" moment every. Single. Time. Sherlock "played" the violin. Considering how much goes into making the series I was stunned as to how completely obvious that the playing was fake. I've seen it done so much better on lesser shows. It was so glaring that it removed me from the episodes.<br/>Sherlock is supposed to be an excellent violinist. So, I'd love a story where he is screaming at the telly about how horribly fake the playing is, and how they couldn't even match the music to the bowings. (!!) Because I know if Sherlock saw Sherlock "playing" he'd have to comment."<br/>[Author's Note: Hopefully this serves as therapy for all us violinists out there (I'm a violist, for the record). I feel bad, but it does get to us in a way that is very difficult to explain, and there is no way Sherlock, watching, would tolerate it at all. I'm so sorry Benedict. I love you. I'm sure it has a lot to do with camera angles and lighting on which takes they use, and poor sound editing. You care enough to be learning. I blame the consultant]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive Me, Benedict

“No, no, nooooo!”

Random howls of displeasure are never entirely unexpected when Sherlock is watching the telly, so while John nearly spills his tea due to the sheer volume, he makes a fast recovery.

“Are you watching Jeremy Kyle again, Sherlock?”

“John, come here,” he demands.

John is actually on his way to the couch anyway, barring any tea mishaps, so he grabs a tray with some milk and sugar and heads over.

Sherlock is in full vulture pose on his chair, looking like he is about to burn a hole in the screen through sheer force of will. To John’s surprise, it’s not crap telly, it’s a movie. How strange.

“John, I know you were in marching band, not orchestra, but honestly… just look at that," he says, throwing a lanky arm towards the set.

He has no idea if he’s ever had occasion to bring up his stint in marching band, but this insight is hardly surprising. He chooses not to comment. “At what? The violinist?”

Sherlock lets out a cross between a snort and a groan. It is, quite frankly, an indescribable sound, but its meaning couldn’t be more clear.

“If you could call him that,” he says.

John looks. The man is moving the bow back and forth in time to the music. It sounds beautiful, and John says so.

“I don’t mean the musician, John, I mean the actor. Look at how he’s sawing his arm back and forth. It’s a slur!” he yells. “Both meanings of the word, in this case.”

John studies the movements closely, and it occurs to him that, for all Sherlock’s playing, John has seldom caught him in the act. He scrapes away at the violin while it is on his lap, but his actual… musical… pieces are usually performed in the middle of the night. The few times he has seen him play a proper piece during the day, Sherlock is usually gazing listlessly out the window onto the street below, back turned toward the room. John realizes he has no idea how finger and bow movements correspond to the notes.

“Maybe you could be a consulting violinist as well as a consulting detective?” he says with a grin.

“It would have been worth their while to procure one. A movie about a violinist requires a minimum level of competency. You don’t expect a movie about a taxi driver to have the lead wiggling the steering wheel back and forth like a four-year-old whilst driving down a straight road.” Sherlock juts his hands out in front of him and rapidly wiggles them side to side in a quick demonstration before slamming them down into his lap.

“I didn’t really notice," John says weakly.

“Of course you didn’t! At least the director had the sense to film this scene from behind so you don’t see his… oh, I take it back. Wrong string. Random finger movements. Oh, thank God, he's putting it away... oh no no no no don't touch the bow hair with your fingers!...well at least he's stopped. Watching him play for more than two seconds constitutes a form of torture."

“Why are you watching it at all, then?” John says cautiously.

“Because it’s a good movie,” Sherlock says, exasperated.


End file.
